


Dry Bones

by Lucius Parhelion (Parhelion)



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1890s, Bone Wars, Cowboys, Historical, M/M, New Mexico, Old West
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-01
Updated: 2005-05-01
Packaged: 2018-12-03 12:46:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11532531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parhelion/pseuds/Lucius%20Parhelion
Summary: Joss got them the job rather than Ox, even though Ox was the one with book-learning about giant lizards...





	Dry Bones

I

Joss got them the job rather than Ox, even though Ox was the one with book-learning about giant lizards. But what Joss didn't know about giant lizards or books, he did know about reading a man from what he wore. Under their dirt the Easterner's boots had a high and polished gloss that meant he had money to spare, more than enough to pay Joss and Ox to guard some bones. And the two of them needed money. They were out of work, which was a sorry place for any cowboy to be.

Their last boss, Mr. Aloysius Norton, had taken a notion to run off a family of farmers at the eastern edge of his acres, but neither Joss nor Ox held with that kind of fuss. Besides, in this year of 1896 most of the Mexicano farmers had been around New Mexico Territory a lot longer than any of the Anglo ranchers, even if their land-titles weren't always right to hand.

Joss had explained this with soft words to the foreman, and then Joss had explained this with hard words to Mr. Norton himself, since speaking soft didn't seem to be working. That final exchange ended up with Joss and Ox riding out from the ranch with their horses and belongings early on a moonless night beneath a clouded-up sky. When the faint light from the ranch buildings fell away behind them, they'd had to swing down and lead the horses. Riding cross-country, the local arroyos sort of leapt out in front of a man in the dark.

"Couldn't do much else but quit, I'm afraid," he'd said to Ox.

"Yup," said Ox. The big fellow never said much, which was kind of funny because he sure had a lot of words stored up inside his head.

But Joss had always reckoned that he could jaw enough for the two of them. "I still don't see how not wanting to monkey around with some granger and his womenfolk makes a man yellow."

Ox had grunted, which he did do quite a bit. Joss could tell the sound was one of agreement, and that had made him feel better. Although he might have been elected the speaker of the two, Joss liked to believe that he fronted a republic. So he did get worried when Ox made it known that he disagreed with whatever notion Joss had in mind.

A long night of walking had taken them into Chamilla just before dawn, where they'd rested a few hours. Then a longer day of riding alongside the railroad ties of the Denver & Rio Grande had taken them on to the burg of Bacaville, which was beyond the stretch of Mr. Norton's shadow. By the time they topped the final ridge, drew reins, and looked down at the cluster of adobe buildings and the larger rows of wooden structures, all tinted red by the last sunlight, they were played out. More important, their horses had been flagging for the last ten miles.

Joss laid a hand on Taffy's neck. Back in Chamilla, before the bit went in, the critter hadn't even had the spunk left to try and get his tongue petted, an annoying habit that had lowered his price to where Joss could afford him, years back. "We have enough in the stake for the livery stable?"

"Yup." There was a long pause, and then, "Baths, too." After a longer pause, Ox added, "And a woman."

"A lady," Joss corrected, out of habit. He had memories of his Ma, back before they moved out west and she'd become a laundrywoman, that made him careful about his language.

Ox considered, and then nodded agreement with his eyes narrowed against the sunset. "A lady."

"All right, then." He eyed Ox. "Will that leave enough money for a couple of days' room and board, and a newspaper for you?"

"Yup."

Which was about all he'd get out of Ox on the topic, Joss knew. So he turned his mind to the evening ahead.

They'd been out on the Blackrock Ranch for two seasons pretty much without a break and – as matters had turned out – without any pay. But Ox, who kept their stake, had silently showed Joss a month back that they still had money left from the previous year. Part of that was luck, and part of that was the knack Joss had of fixing both clothing and tack so they'd go farther than anyone else would reckon possible. But part of that was because Joss had changed his go-to-town routine these last two years since he'd gotten a partner.

Used to be Joss would scratch his itches until he was just about bled white. He'd buy the company of all the girls he could afford over his few days of flush freedom, along with a lot of over-priced rotgut with which to lubricate the grittiness of their company. Even so, there always came a time when he'd catch a glimpse of an expression as he posted over his current mount that made him recollect his mother examining some miner's cast-aside shirt trampled across by muddy boots. And after he was all done, he'd be flat and stony busted.

These days he stuck to Miss Fifi, or Miss Lola, the gal in every house that the men never treated well but requested more than any other, the one who'd do the French. Joss would "ma'am" and "please" and "thank you" just like he always did, and make sure to leave her a gift. He'd only spend a little of the money he had spent before, enough to pay for a time or three with that single lady. Then, while she knelt before him, mouth busy, he'd shut his eyes while she worked and think that at least he'd been mannerly, and think about how the rest of his pay was firmly held in Ox's big, strong hands. That was a better easing than all the ones he'd once gotten, a heck of a lot better.

In fact, he was whistling early the next afternoon as he scrubbed and then buttoned up at the washstand. After he'd thanked his current partner with his Stetson clutched in both hands, and then strolled down the wooden stairs and out through the front door of the whorehouse, he whistled some more. Such were his good feelings that he didn't leave the Easterner to his natural fate at the hands of the mill workers, too broke to drink, who were loitering on the porch of the King Saloon.

"That's an awful nancy suit you have there, Mister," the oldest was saying to the Easterner. The worker had to be all of twenty-one or two, around Joss's age. The Easterner was in his early thirties, probably part of what was riling up the fellows from the timber mill. They didn't get many chances to sass older men who were obviously richer and higher class than they were.

"I like his watch. It's pretty." Those words came from the biggest one, a rangy fellow in waist overalls who had a weak chin and a bad attitude. He was looming over the slim, brown-haired dude like a thundercloud over a mesa.

Joss sauntered up the stairs and paused on the porch, tapping one boot on the top step to catch their attention. He said, "Now, boys. You should be hospitable." He made sure his tone was tolerant and that his hands were resting easy on his belt close to the high-slung slim-Jim holsters. Truth to tell, he hadn't laid a man out in the street since he was young and rowdy and hoped he would never have to do so again. But the workers couldn't be sure of what Joss would do, and they were too sober to be stupid.

"Aw, we were only funning," the biggest said with a grin.

"I know, I know, but this gentleman here was coming to have a drink with me. Have to speak with him about a job, so I hope you will excuse us." Half-praying that the dude would have some sense, Joss nodded his head to the man in an "after you" kind of way.

The fellow wasn't a fuss-loving fool. He bowed slightly to the workers, which made them laugh, and preceded Joss through the swinging doors and into the saloon. Inside he turned and said, in that nasal, northeastern drawl, "Thank you. May I, in fact, buy you a drink?"

Joss thought for a few seconds. Ox liked some time alone when he could get it, so there was no reason to hurry on over to the boardinghouse. "If you please. I'm Josiah Lewis. Folks call me Joss."

"A pleasure, sir, as I'm certain you know." There was a little drop of irony diluting the words that made Joss think better of the fellow. "My name is Nathan Wycliffe Parr." He offered a soft, strong hand, which Joss regarded and then shook.

"How do you do, Mr. Parr. Let's get those drinks."

Like most Territory bars, the Adobe stocked the full range of decent drinkables, if at twice or three times the price that a man would pay in St. Louis. Noticing Mr. Parr's overcoat, with its eastern cut and fine tailoring, the barkeep started to reach for the trade whisky, enthroned in glory for the admiration of foolish travelers on the center-most of the shelves that stretched across the big mirror. At Joss's level stare, the barkeep stopped and handed down the bourbon instead.

Joss could understand the barkeep's temptation. The Easterner just about wore a sign around his neck with fancy lettering that read "loot now available here." His suit was of some lumpy brown material but his gold watch and chain were matched by a nice pair of gold cuff-links and by the discreet gold stick-pin in the tie. His boots were of finely-worked leather that wouldn't last a day in the badlands. And his looks went with the clothes: his sleek brown hair was neatly cut, his brown eyes weren't bloodshot, and his smooth, pale skin was unmarred. The fellow had never had a cheek sliced up like Joss or had his nose broken like Ox. He'd sure never spent much time out under the summer sun or riding through winter blizzards.

Mr. Parr drank deep and then said, "I'm hoping that your story to those men sprang from some real and urgent need."

Shrugging, Joss worked to lower the level in his own shot glass. "We're looking for work, me and Ox, yup."

"I need a few men to help me pick up a parcel at the Spirit River Ranch, to the northwest of Abeque. My father-in-law is a great collector of fossils—"

He paused politely to check for understanding, and Joss said, "Bones."

"Yes, roughly. Some local ranch hands apparently found a skull and other bits of a creature never reported in the scholarly literature before, an entirely new kind of giant lizard. After viewing a sketch that made its way to Massachusetts, my father-in-law telegraphed and purchased the lot. Now he has sent me to escort the fossils back east."

"It seems a fair bit of trouble for some bones."

"There've been incidents of fossil poaching in the past, sometimes violent ones. Both amateur and professional...bone collectors can be very passionate, Mr. Lewis. As well, I've been here in New Mexico Territory less than a day and I can already tell that I'm the proverbial fish out of water. Given this, I'd like to hire you and – your partner? – to escort me to the Spirit River Ranch and back."

Joss raised his eyebrows. "Are you always so quick to trust a stranger, Mr. Parr?"

The fellow smiled. His teeth were handsome, too. "A stranger who will go out of his way to help a damn-fool Easterner and then warn him against strangers?"

"I could be penning you for later."

"Then at least you mean to wait, Mr. Lewis. Everyone else seems to want to butcher me right now before someone else can claim a chunk of the meat. But if it will make you feel better, I'll pay half your fee up front and half when we return to town with the bones."

Joss grinned. "A wise precaution, sir. All right, we'll talk to my partner. That'll give you both a chance to see each other before any gold changes hands."

"You have a place to stay?"

"We're with Mrs. Hackler, over behind the general store. She takes in boarders."

"You provide yet another example of my ignorance. I've been searching for a hotel without success. If you don't mind a pause at the station while I retrieve my suitcases?"

"Nope," Joss said, and then downed the last of his drink. Good liquor. Nice to think he might be able to afford another shot or two during the days before he and Ox found places on a new ranch.

He got up and walked along with Parr down to the train station. He waited with interest to see if the man would expect Joss to haul his luggage, but Parr carried his own leather cases without complaint. This job really might work out.

They talked a little as they went down Bacaville's main street, bustling with business from the timber mill and the railroad, and Joss somehow ended up taking one of the suitcases. Then he guided them onto the cross street where Mrs. Hackler made her home. There didn't seem to be a Mr. Hackler, but Mrs. Hackler took in boarders, as well as running a millinery shop and ladies' tailoring service from her front parlor, and she and her two daughters did fine. Joss and Ox had stayed with her once before, so they'd known enough to visit the bathhouse before they came over to ask for a room. Joss figured she'd purely love Mr. Parr.

He was right. When Mr. Parr said, "I am terribly sorry to impose upon you without having notified you of my impending arrival," all in those soft-soap tones some men used on women, Mrs. Parr drew herself up like the Queen of England before she went all gracious. Then she called for both Alice and Sarah, not to mention Juanita the maid, to get the best room ready for the gentleman.

Joss smiled as he sauntered up the stairs. Nice manners and nicer looks could get a fellow quite a ways with a lady. Although Ma had warned him to watch a man's eyes before he made his judgment. But Parr's eyes didn't seem bad, either, only kind of dreamy. Reaching their bedroom, Joss reached for the knob, which resisted a little. Frowning, Joss gave the knob a stronger twist, opened the door, and went in. He should have knocked first.

Usually you went into a room and Ox would be reading. But not this time. The Bacaville newspaper was still folded up on the wickerwork chair seat by the window. Ox's big, worn pair of boots was set neatly on the plank floor nearby, next to the small rucksack holding both Joss's tools and Ox's books. Ox himself was sprawled out on one of the two beds, his legs slightly spread, his eyes closed, with one arm resting behind his head on the pillow. He wasn't napping, though. His other hand was busy down below, where he had his trousers undone. That massive hand stroked back and forth with brisk strength along a cock big enough not to be dwarfed by the paw that held it.

Joss felt himself gape. For a moment all he could think was that the other hands at their first ranch together had been wrong, that Ox wasn't such a good nickname for his partner after all. But then Ox's lids opened at the sound of the door. He saw Joss, his blue eyes widened, and he shuddered. Joss slammed his own lids shut. Behind him, towards the stairs, there was a sound of chattering as the girls came up to get the Easterner's room ready.

Most times, Joss had good reflexes. They'd failed him briefly, but now they went back to work. He stepped the rest of the way into the room, turned around, and quietly shut the door. And there he stood, eyes open again, examining the varnished pine planks. But now his mouth was working, too. "Hell-fire. Sorry I came busting in on you, Ox. You need me to go back downstairs? I got this fellow penned up in the parlor who wants us to work for him, but I can keep him there until you're ready to talk. Or I can tell him we'll meet tomorrow, which I don't think will be a problem because he's pretty desperate-sounding. Seems as if he's feeling lost and he don't have anyone to help him pick up the packages he wants from some ranch up by Spirit River, so he's going to rent a wagon and would like to hire us for escorts. If you want me to, though, I can—"

"Joss." The familiar, deep voice was much huskier than usual but it was also calm.

Joss felt his shoulders slump in relief. "What?"

"I'm all done."

"Oh." Joss swallowed. But his voice kept right on going, the way it would sometimes when he was tense. "Well, all right, then. I'll just —" Joss waved his hand around for a moment before he thought to go open a window. He leaned out and took a deep breath of hot and dusty late summer air, acrid with the smell of livestock in the pens by the station, smoke from the timber mill, and grit. Below him, sitting in the dirt in the middle of the street, a skinny dog was flailing away with a hind paw at his ear. Joss shook his head. Then, suddenly, he grinned. "There's a mongrel down there working on a flea. This sure does seem to be the day for scratching itches."

Ox grunted, amused. So that was all right, too.

The dog also seemed to be finished, and he settled down to sleep in the sun-warmed dirt. Behind him, Joss heard the sound of pouring water, a little splashing around over by the washstand, and then the sound of clothes being rearranged.

"Done."

Joss turned around, still grinning a little, and saw Ox looking like he never had a thought in his head of how to spend the afternoon outside of reading the local newspaper and his battered old copy of Mr. Shakespeare's plays. Joss puffed out a breath of pure relief and sat back on the windowsill while Ox stamped his boots on.

"Maybe you should lock the door next time, Ox."

"I did," Ox said. "Guess it's busted."

"Doesn't that just figure in a house full of women? I'll take a look at the lock later. But meantime, you want to talk with this Easterner?"

"Yup."

Getting up, Joss examined his friend with a critical eye. Nope, you couldn't tell what he'd been up to.

"Give me a minute and then come on down. We can talk out on the porch, maybe catch a breeze."

"Okay," Ox said, and smiled at Joss a touch warmer than usual.

Joss smiled back. Awkward events did happen when you knew a fellow long enough. He should have anticipated that, the fellow in question being Ox, there wouldn't be much fuss to endure.

Back down in the front parlor, Mr. Parr was sipping a cup of tea. Perhaps it was just Joss's imagination that he looked a little relieved when Joss asked, "If you'd care to come along to the porch, sir, and tell us about the job you have in mind?"

"Ah, of course." He said to Mrs. Hackler, "If you'll excuse me? Best to make arrangements now, so that we can obtain any necessary supplies before the stores close today."

Mrs. Hackler seemed disappointed to lose her fancy company, but she was gracious. "I'll send out some cool water from the icebox in a bit, Joss."

"Thank you, ma'am," Joss said. "I know Ox will appreciate that."

As they headed for the stairs, he told Parr, "I spoke with Ox and he seems inclined to accept your offer."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that your partner—" Mr. Parr interrupted his words to gape up at the head of the stairs.

Joss thought later that there were a lot of things he might have expected to hear next, like "Good heavens, you certainly are large," or maybe, "Are you positive he can handle my precious fossils without breaking them?"

What he sure didn't expect to hear was, "Robert. Robert Henry Montague. My God, man, where have you been?"

II

For a moment, Joss wanted to do some gaping himself. But then Ox flinched and Joss's wits came galloping back. He grabbed Parr's elbow and practically dragged him upstairs past Ox before shoving him through the doorway into their room. Then he turned back to see if Ox was going to follow, or if Joss needed to barricade the Easterner in and set the house on fire, or what.

Ox squared his shoulders. He'd gone pale, real pale.

At least Joss's mouth was still working, not too much of a surprise he reckoned. "Montague's a nice name."

Something stirred behind Ox's blue eyes and he said, "I like Ox better."

"Okay, then."

Ox headed for the doorway and Joss stepped out of the way. Then he followed Ox into the room, glad that the door wasn't slammed in his face like he'd half-expected.

Parr was striding up and down the small room, across floor planks and rag rug, his hands joined behind his coat the way some fancy townsmen did when they were upset. Joss almost expected Parr to whip out the pocket watch and complain about Wells Fargo being late with his payroll. Instead, he turned to Ox and said, "Most of us thought you must have gone to the Continent when you could. No one would ever have expected to find you here." He made a sweeping gesture of amazement with both arms like Bacaville was someplace to the far side of Nippon.

With a shrug, Ox pulled out a chair and sat down on it. "You have a job for us, Nathan?"

Joss ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. He'd been wondering if he should be in this room. But by the way Ox had his back turned towards the corner Joss was in, he knew Ox sensed him there and felt guarded. So now the question was what Joss was guarding him from.

"You're a, a cowhand?"

"Yup. The job?"

"But your being a cowhand, an agricultural laborer, seems so—" Parr trailed off, not finding what he was looking for.

"Ironic." Ox knew the word, but then he usually did. "We're keeping Joss waiting."

From his start, Parr hadn't even noticed Joss was in the room. Somehow that told Joss why he was here; to stop Parr from blurting out something he shouldn't in the shock of seeing Ox again.

That task, Joss could surely do. "All right, Mr. Parr. There's about two days' worth of riding out to the Ghost River, three if we go easy, which I recommend we do. The way I figure it, we'll need to rent a buckboard wagon down at the livery stable—"

Half an hour later, he and Ox were headed for the livery stable while Parr talked to Mr. Burton at the General Store. Joss had glanced at Ox before they abandoned Parr between the pickle barrel and the cracker boxes, and Ox had nodded minutely. Most often Easterners were sharp as needles when they knew what they were doing, and Parr must have known something about supplies and money. Which made sense, Joss reckoned, if Parr and Ox came from the same place. Ox was good with money.

As he stepped over a cow chip, Joss said, "We don't have to take this job. We can still veer off."

Ox grunted. This was the one that meant something about spilt milk or maybe water over dams.

"Fine. Anything you want to tell me first in case he blurts something out?"

A pause, and then, "I was in jail."

"That's where you got all them scars, then. I'd wondered."

"Those."

"Sorry, Ox. Those scars." Ox helped Joss with his speaking sometimes, the same way he'd helped Joss to finish learning to read and Joss had taught him in return to sew a decent seam and neaten up barbed-wire splices. Joss knew Ox's correction was only meant as a distraction. Still, he decided to let Ox be.

As they went into the stable, Joss waved at the hostler's youngest boy forking manure outside. Ox ignored the youngster. When Joss got over to the end stall on the right, Taffy was looking all full of himself. The critter spotted Joss, nickered, moved up tight to the stall's door, and sure-enough lolled out his tongue. Joss glanced around. Although he could hear the sounds of someone shifting fodder in the hay-loft above, no one else was in the stable but Ox, and he was already busy inspecting the hooves on his big old gelding Webster. So Joss gave Taffy a surreptitious pat or two. You weren't supposed to indulge cow horses in such behavior, but Joss was used to Taffy and the critter did love his pats so.

Then, while he double-checked Taffy's hide and hooves, he picked up the conversation with Ox, over in the next stall. By now Joss had figured out what he wanted to say, so he did. "That's all right, too, your being in jail. Lots of folks have been there once. I was for a couple of months; I told you."

"Yup," said Ox.

Joss snorted. "Now, that 'Yup' was what you call ironic although I don't know why. I can't imagine your doing anything a man couldn't write off doing a single time."

Ox only grunted again. Joss didn't know the meaning of this one. He glared at Ox for a moment. Ox jabbed a thumb up towards the loft and whoever might be working overhead. Joss gave up. You could wear Ox down, but it took a while. Joss had found that out back on the Bar H in Colorado, when it'd taken him three, maybe four months to pry open the big fellow he'd decided to be curious about after he'd caught Ox petting Taffy one day. It sure had been a lot of work, if well worth the effort.

Some part of him resented this Mr. Nathan Parr, who must have known Ox when he'd either talked more or talked sooner. It wasn't a big resentment, though. Sooner or later Ox would come around, and Joss would be ready when he did. In the meantime, they had a wagon to rent and dinner waiting back at the boardinghouse.

Mrs. Hackler kept her attention on Parr that whole evening, which was fine by Joss. His Ma had taught him table manners, and Joss was using them. But he employed fancy manners rarely enough to have to concentrate, the first day or two, if he was going to be polite and still snare some of the grub before the other boarders scooped it up and consumed the lot. Parr, who obviously wasn't used to the boardinghouse table game, ended up eating pretty light. Manners or not, Ox got filled, but then he always did. Those long arms of his gave him an advantage.

After dinner, Ox went up the stairs looking neither right nor left, paying no attention to Parr's tentative "Robert—" just before the Misses Hacklers got Mr. Parr each by an arm and dragged him off to the front parlor to look at stereoscopic views of the Grand Canyon, Paris, France, and what-not. Joss, on the other hand, followed Ox.

Ox was back lying on his bed again, reading poetry this time, Tennyson's _Idylls of the King_. 

Joss sat down to work his own boots off, and then said, "Ox?"

Ox grunted, sounding wary.

"You ever notice any hair growing on your palms?"

Closing his book, Ox considered Joss. "No," he said. Seems whatever he'd expected wasn't this. Joss didn't know why; a lot of sawbones said a man's shaking himself was worse than fornication. They'd have held that Joss had failed his partner by leaving Ox to his own resources rather than insisting Ox take the natural release to be found with prostitutes. But Joss didn't care much about doctors. He was more worried about what Ox was thinking.

"No insanity, no urge to carve yourself up with a buck-knife? No drooling idiocy? Blurred vision? Got the Spanish pox? Heck, have you been feeling at all poorly today?"

"Nope."

Joss nodded. He'd thought not. "Then all those doctors are pulling a flim-flam about the inevitable results of, of—"

"Self-abuse."

"Thank you." Joss wasn't surprised there was a snide, fancy eastern term for it. "I thought that was the case, what with me still being fine after all these years, but I could just be odd."

Ox suddenly chuckled. "You are. Not about that."

"Which is also what I thought." Going over to his own bed, Joss sprawled out on the coverlet. "You going to read tonight?"

After a long pause, Ox said, "Yup." He picked up the book again. And when he read again, he read out loud.

That was something they'd never talked about, the fact that Ox would speak at length in this single circumstance. Ox read with the grace and the skill of an actor, with the voice, Joss now knew, of a high-born and educated Easterner. Joss enjoyed his entertainment too much to make any sort of a fuss and risk losing all the beautiful words. Aside from the landscape and the occasional perils, a cowboy's life could be deadly dull. So even Joss would keep his trap shut when the alternative was never finding out what the heck Lancelot thought he was up to with Guinevere. Joss was still wondering about that last question when he dozed off.

Habit woke him before dawn to find his belt unbuckled and his collar off, and with a blanket thrown over him. Joss got up and shook out his boots, a ground-in habit to check for scorpions. Then he stripped to the waist, unbuttoning his combinations to let them hang, and shaved in the cold water, which demanded a steady hand with the straight-razor. Next he woke Ox and went down to the necessary so that Ox could have some privacy. Ox hated showing his bare back to anyone, even Joss.

On the way back to their room he rapped on Parr's door and was pleasantly surprised to find the Easterner already awake. They all three managed to be riding back north out of Bacaville just as the first sunlight was pouring over the mesa east of the river.

Joss was driving the wagon with Taffy tied up behind and Parr in the seat next to him. The Easterner was carrying a gun. It was some fancy hunting shotgun with engraved barrels, but a gun was a gun after all. Quiet as ever, Ox rode slightly ahead, scouting their path. Joss missed being in the saddle, having all of Taffy's reactions to add to his own, and he wasn't enjoying the wagon's jolts, but he also wasn't going to trust someone he didn't know to play teamster in this country when there might be difficulties ahead.

"Are you expecting trouble today?" Joss asked Parr. Business before private matters.

"No. Perhaps at the ranch, after we pick up the fossils. My father-in-law, Colonel Masters, does have a business rival who I've heard has connections in this area. I suppose Mr. van Reisler might take an interest merely out of a desire to confound. But I don't anticipate difficulties until then."

"You should enjoy the trip, then. We're traveling through nice country."

"Yes, I am looking forward to this trip." Parr's tone was thoughtful. Joss noted with a prickling sense of unease, though, that Parr was watching Ox as he spoke.

The first hours, as they followed the road back to Chamilla, Parr didn't talk much. But he did spend a lot of his time twisting his neck around to look at the mesas and the river.

Finally, Joss asked, "Is something worrying you, Mr. Parr?"

"Is this area prone to Indian attacks?"

Joss bit his lips for a moment to make sure he wouldn't grin, and then said, "Nope, most of the local Indians farm and are a heck of a lot more interested in their corn than in travelers. Sometimes we get Apaches wandering down off the reservation, but these days they mostly want grub, trade, or drink."

Parr considered, and then shook his head. "None of what I'm seeing is what I expected. The land may be bleak, but the people are so settled."

Joss shrugged. "The Mexicanos have been here about two hundred fifty years, the farmer-Indians longer. Any place gets like home after that long, I guess. If you want wild and empty, you have to ride up into the High Rockies, and no one stays there long without any people around. This Territory is only dry and sparse. Good looking, though, what with all the red rock and blue skies. The pines are pretty, too, where they haven't been lumbered out. Handsome country, I think."

"I suppose it is. But for me—" Parr looked ahead to where Ox was riding, started to say something more, and then stopped.

"Not what you're used to."

"No," Parr said, and closed back up.

Maybe Joss should have been grateful the man could be discreet, but somehow he wasn't.

That night they holed up in an abandoned half-roofed adobe a ways outside of Chamilla proper. They could have pushed on but Joss was glad they hadn't, given the sort of ride a fellow got from an unsprung wagon. Joss had to stretch out before he felt fit for walking, and Parr looked downright played out. But at least he hadn't bellyached.

Using his few words of Mex and the farm family's many words of English, Joss had managed to make their needs known at the small farm about a quarter of a mile in towards the river. He returned to the adobe with some eggs and tortillas he'd paid too much for, but that was a wise investment in neighborliness. When he approached the fire of juniper branches, Parr broke off what he was saying to Ox, got up, and strolled towards the small cluster of piñon pines growing around what had been a well before it dried. Joss reminded himself again to mind his own business.

"They said we were free to stay the night here."

Ox grunted, pleased.

"Although we should still keep watch, just in case someone out there gets ideas. The Mrs. warned me to keep an eye out for _brujas_ , the ones that dried up the well, I guess."

Nodding, Ox said, "You first."

"Seeing as how I'm so attractive to scary creatures of the night? You just want a quiet watch, you coyote."

It always made Joss's insides warm, to see Ox smile.

They had eggs, salt beef, and beans all wrapped up in tortillas for dinner. Once they'd sand-scrubbed the pan and utensils, and Joss and Ox had tended and hobbled the horses, they rejoined Parr at the fire.

After a few minutes of silence, Parr asked, "What is it like, being a rancher?"

He was looking towards Ox, but Joss was the one who replied, "I think you mean a ranch hand."

Now Parr was staring at the fancy boots. The fire brought up his handsome features, as neat as the profile on an unworn coin. "I suppose I do, yes."

Joss glanced at Ox, whose face gave nothing away. So, with a shrug, he started to talk.

By the time they banked the fire down, Parr had probably heard more than he ever wanted to know about cows and the ten thousand ways that they could get into trouble. He seemed to lap it all up and be thirsty for more, though.

Joss had seen such interest before, and he had no illusions. In the end, being a cowboy was like being a whaler, a lumberjack, or a miner: a hard, dirty job that mostly killed you young with consumption or crippled you up with arthritis and old injuries. But the men who didn't have to do the work, who didn't live close enough to see and smell the reality, sometimes viewed the cowboy's life as romantic and free. Oh, well. Joss himself probably had some funny notions about life in New York City.

At least all the chatter served to pass some time before Ox and Parr bedded down for the night. There was still an air of tension around the fire that made Joss want to tense up too. Maybe there was trouble out in the night, after all. He kept a careful watch, but didn't hear anything livelier than a coyote off in the distance.

A few hours later, Joss went and gently shook Ox where he was rolled up in his blankets. A huge hand shot out and grabbed Joss's wrist, and then Ox said quietly, "Joss."

"No, it's William Jennings Bryan carrying his cross of gold. Your watch, Ox."

But as Joss got warm in his own blanket roll, he couldn't help wondering if Ox had expected the person shaking him awake to be Parr. For some reason the notion made him uneasy again, if not enough to keep him awake.

The next day they turned up Chamilla Creek and started following the canyon it had cut through the eastern mesa towards Abeque.

If Parr had been quiet during yesterday's ride, today he was a Navajo. He didn't say more than twenty or thirty words all told before they made camp that evening. At night over the fire, though, Parr decided to talk. Without prodding, he told Joss all about his life back east, about his fancy job, his fine friends, and their big houses. Mostly, though, he told tales about his old schools. Joss was curious – Joss was always curious – but there was also an urgency to Parr's near-monologue that kept Joss making interested noises and encouraging comments. Ox just sat there looking offish.

Why didn't Ox either shut Parr up or add some grunts? Finally, Joss got annoyed enough to prod him. He asked Parr, "So, you and Ox were pals, Mr. Parr?"

Parr stopped dead, took a deep breath, and said, "Yes, we were. We went through both our preparatory academy and college together, as part of a small group of friends. Many of our fathers served in the same regiment during the war, and we modeled our relations after their dear comradeship."

Ox still didn't say anything. The way his head was tilted, you couldn't even see his eyes in the firelight.

"Robert and I were very close for many years. In fact, in the end, I married his cousin."

Ox got up and walked away.

Parr's eyes followed him, and he fell silent. Joss wanted to kick him, tell him to stand up and get going after Ox. Or he wanted to go after Ox himself, one or the other. He didn't act on either impulse, though. He only reached over and put more wood on the fire.

They bedded down as soon as Ox got back from what might have been a sanitary stroll, although Joss sure doubted that. This night Ox took first watch and was the one to wake Joss hours later. When he was abruptly shaken, Joss blinked up at the bulk blocking the stars before smiling without thinking. He'd been dreaming something sweet and the mood kind of clung.

Standing back upright, Ox reached out a hand and pulled Joss up onto his feet. "Been quiet," was all he said, deep voice pitched low.

"Good," Joss replied.

As Ox turned away to seek his own bedroll, Joss meditatively scratched the rasping whiskers that bordered his scars. Married his cousin. Huh. Was that why Ox didn't show much interest in women?

He thought about that, and he listened to the night. Then he spent some time letting his mind drift around while trying to rope in what he'd been dreaming about. All he got from the wandering was reason to be glad that Parr was paying them so well. Seemingly, their time in town had been interrupted before Joss had worked all the sauce out of his blood. He'd need to visit the whorehouse again. Meditatively, Joss rubbed a hand up and down the fall of his trousers. Then, realizing where that was headed, he stopped. If Ox had been the only one in camp he might have kept going, but darned if he was taking the chance of being interrupted by some stuffy Easterner.

The next morning, they were only about three hours' ride out from the Spirit River boundaries when they left their camp. Two hours on, Joss spotted the horse skull that marked the turn-off from the main trail and asked Parr, "Do you want to overnight at the ranch, Mr. Parr?"

Parr, who'd been acting sullen all morning, asked, "Must we?"

"Nope. We can victual the horses, turn around, and start back this afternoon. It would cut a day off our trip." Joss examined the team in front of him critically and then craned around briefly to check Taffy. "The trip's been slow enough that they're looking pretty good."

"The early return sounds like a wise idea."

Joss nodded. "I think so, too. There's still something prickling between my shoulder blades, and I don't know quite what. The sooner we're back to Bacaville, the happier I'll be."

"And the sooner the Colonel has his fossils, the happier he'll be," Parr said, and sighed. "Yes, I'd say we were in agreement, Mr. Lewis." Neither of them mentioned discussing the decision with Ox.

Of course by the time they'd ridden up to the main buildings, Mr. Hewitt, the owner of the Spirit River ranch, knew they were coming, informed by his hands. He was already standing outside, waiting by the three large wooden crates his men had pulled out from a shed near the main ranch house.

"Business," Parr half-muttered, and climbed down from the buckboard rather stiffly. He walked over to Hewitt, and Joss and Ox concerned themselves with seeing to the horses. As Joss talked about feed and water with the old man who'd come out of the big barn to help him, he was aware that Ox had drifted towards the folks by the shed. So he also vaguely noticed when Parr had a low rough-hewn table carried out from a workroom and set down near some locust trees, and then had the hands pry the three waist-high wooden crates open. Parr plucked out most of the contents of the crates, leaving behind the straw, and unwrapped packages to spread bones across the table. By the time Joss was finished with his own business and went to see what was happening, Parr was done but Ox was behind the table brooding over the bones the way he'd ponder a book-peddler's boxes.

Parr was professing himself satisfied. "They certainly seem to be in order, Mr. Hewitt. Now, if one of your men could pack these back up—"

"I'll do that," Ox said abruptly, startling both Joss and, seemingly, himself.

Parr started his reply with "But—" and then said instead, "Of course, Robert." Visibly turning his attention elsewhere, he said to Mr. Hewitt. "And now, if you'd like to take care of the commercial details?"

They went off together and Ox began packing the bones back into their crates with a great deal more care than Parr had used in removing them. Fascinated, Joss shifted in closer to the table for a better view of what had caused all this fuss. Sitting there, grinning at him, was some lizard-like critter's skull. It was huge, almost as big as his own head. He tried to imagine a lizard that big with teeth that sharp coming at him, and blinked. "Heck, Ox, could these bones live?"

Ox paused, cradling a thigh bone, and eyed Joss. "Dead now. Dead lives still have stories, though." With practiced skill, he rewrapped the bone in its cloth, checked that the inked-on number was showing, and carefully wedged the padded bone back into the last bit of unoccupied straw lining the crate. Then he stepped away and gestured for a ranch hand to nail the lid back on, watching the entire procedure with critical attention.

Moving to stand next to Ox, Joss said, voice low but certain, "You've done this before."

Without looking, Ox said, "Yup." He picked up another bone, some sort of rib or something. His hands seemed to caress it for a moment. "But no more. That life's dead."

For once, it was Joss's turn to grunt. He wished it didn't sound so much like he'd been punched in the belly. It was like hearing about Guinevere, Arthur, and Lancelot, and suddenly suspecting the ending meant something altogether different than what you'd thought it did, suspecting that what really mattered was what happened between the king and his knight.

As Ox started packing the second crate, Joss went to work. Ox looked sideways, but he'd spent enough time watching how well Joss did with his hands to let him help. The remaining packing went much faster with them both working, and they were done by the time Parr reemerged from the ranch house and from luncheon with Mr. Hewitt and his wife. While the hands loaded the three crates into the buckboard, Joss intercepted Parr. "Mr. Parr. Did you ask Mr. Hewitt if he told anyone local about who bought those bones of yours?"

Parr, who'd looked preoccupied, shifted expressions to startled. "No. Should I have?"

"That might tell us if anyone dangerous knows to take an interest."

"I'll ask." Parr strode over to where Mrs. Hewitt was seeing a wicker picnic basket added to the load in the wagon bed, and drew Mr. Hewitt away from her by the elbow. Joss drifted a little closer, to be within earshot. He noticed that Ox shifted in close too, while pretending that one of his stirrups had to be adjusted.

"I'm terribly sorry to take you away from your lady wife, but I forgot to inquire about one bit of information. Did you, by any chance, speak of Colonel Masters purchasing your fossils to anyone in this region?"

Mr. Hewitt stared for a moment, then deliberately tilted back his hat and scratched his forehead. Joss suppressed a grimace. The way he was dillydallying meant—

"Well," Mr. Hewitt finally said, with obvious reluctance, "I might have mentioned something at the Upper River Ranch Owner's Association meeting a month or so back."

"To whom?" Parr sounded edgy but there was also a note in his voice that made a man not want to cross him. Joss wasn't surprised that Hewitt answered with less hesitation this time.

"As I recollect, I was speaking with Mr. Aloysius Norton from up Blackrock way. He was the one who first mentioned that the bones might be of some interest. There was this book he'd come across on the subject."

Gossip was valuable currency in a small group. Hewitt had probably been currying favor with the biggest landowner in four counties by blatting on about his rich Easterner customer. And if anyone in this county would have some business patron back east— Joss looked over at Ox; Ox looked at Joss. Then, with a gusty sigh, Ox swung up and into his saddle. Reaching back, he pulled his rifle from its holster, and slung it across his lap. Parr saw this, and turned to raise eyebrows in inquiry at Joss, who nodded glumly back at him. The prospects for the trip back to Bacaville had suddenly gotten a whole hell of a lot more exciting.

III

That night Joss couldn't settle. Maybe everything would have turned out different if he could have slept, but he couldn't. He was restless with fears of a fight to come and itches that he couldn't scratch until they returned to Bacaville. But long experience had taught Joss that stirring around wouldn't do any good, so he made himself lie quiet and breathe even. As he'd hoped, soon he was walking along the edge of dozing, if still not slipping over into slumber. But he was aware enough to hear when the low voices said what would awaken any man.

"I forgive you." Those were the first words that punched through Joss's near doze. Or Joss might have patched together Parr's sentence from what Ox asked next.

"So now you've chosen to forgive me?" Ox's deep voice was weary.

"Of course." Silence followed, and then small noises, very familiar noises. Incredulous, Joss opened his eyes to see what was all too clear in a fire built higher than it should have been. Parr was leant over—kissing Ox. Kissing him.

Not kissing like a man kissed his son, or like some Mex fellow kissed some other Mex fellow. No, this was the way a man kissed his wife or some youngster kissed his best girl. Parr was tender but as passionate as if big Ox, solid as the Rocky Mountains, was a tow-headed beauty in gingham and ribbons.

Joss's stomach muscles clenched. He wanted to explode out of his blankets and demand to know just what was going on. He wanted to mill Parr down into the dirt. How could he? Ox was a man, not a schoolmarm, not a nance. How did Parr dare to kiss Ox like that, do what Joss had never quite imagined could be done-- And that was when Joss realized he was jealous, feeling as green as new spring grass. What in heck?

All his raging emotions seemed to sum up into paralysis. Joss felt his teeth grit hard and the cords of his neck stand out, but otherwise he didn't move. He only watched, eyes narrowed, as Ox broke away, got up onto his feet, and stared down at Parr. "Don't be a fool. You're not Plato's Socrates, Nathan." The complete sentences seemed to creak and rattle like a long train of rusty boxcars. "Or do you think you're immune, somehow above this fleshly temptation? I thought so, too, until my young fisherman taught me otherwise."

Parr said, voice low with shock, "I was given to understand that he was an agricultural laborer from van Reisler's Hudson valley estate. I'm sure that without van Reisler's influence at the trial—"

Ox interrupted with a laugh as bitter as bricklebush. "The first one was a fisherman. The farmhand I actually got caught with, he was my fifth. Or was he my sixth? I'm sure I can't remember."

That was a lie. Ox wasn't one to forget such a detail.

"Prison will do that, especially when you know you have nothing to remember that's still awaiting your release. No reputation. No work. No family. No place to call home. Certainly no friends."

"I'm your friend."

"Ah. That's why you never visited me."

There was silence. Then, "You still have money, Robert. Everyone knows that you withdrew the funds from your trust account before you disappeared. You don't have to live like this."

"Did any of you actually think that a respectable firm would continue to handle the investments of a man who'd been convicted of my offense? Never mind. Merely be amazed I'm living at all. It would've been easier. Not to. Live." Ox's words had been coming out more and more slowly, like the train was running out of steam. Suddenly he made a gagging noise, hawked, and spat. "Insolence." That last word was Ox's usual curt near-grunt.

"What?" Parr asked, sounding bewildered.

Joss wasn't bewildered, though. Even during the three months he spent in prison for his part in a range war, he'd taken a lash or two for back-talk. He imagined that both cops and guards would hear a lot of insolence in those highfalutin eastern tones, especially coming from a prisoner who'd done what Ox obviously had. Joss wondered how long it had taken Ox to learn not to speak.

Maybe Joss was kept still by the memory of all the scars, shiny and interlaced, that he'd seen one time when he'd had to guard Ox as his partner bathed in a Colorado mountain stream. Marring that broad, powerful back, they'd been like burn marks on the hide of a fine mustang stallion. Or maybe it was only his two years of riding with Ox, day in, day out, that silenced Joss. But whatever the bit was, something made Joss hold his tongue when Ox went off into the night again, when Parr started to follow and then changed his mind. Or maybe Joss was afraid. He'd sleep deep sometimes when he was fearful, stampeding away into slumber the way he did now.

He woke with Ox's hand on his shoulder. Joss blinked up, and as he should have expected, his mouth moved before his mind awoke. "Gonna shoot him, I swear," he half-muttered.

Ox removed his hand like Joss was a rattler. Then, after a pause, he said, "Wouldn't solve anything."

"It would surely make me feel better," Joss retorted. "Right now I just feel sick." Without saying anything else, he got up, pulled his guns out from under the pack that was serving as his pillow, dumped out and donned his boots, and went into the dark a ways to relieve his bladder. When he got back to the fire, Ox was pretending to be asleep.

Joss didn't argue the matter with him. Instead he sat with his back to the fire and waited for the dawn, still feeling offish. He tried to think. Unlike most times, thinking hurt. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't put together Ox and Parr in any way that made sense. A man fornicated with women. If he was desperate or a rip, a man could fornicate with one of those odd cusses with a woman's nature or take the risk of servicing himself. If a man was wicked, Joss knew, there were still other targets. But men didn't fornicate with men, and they sure didn't romance each other. Joss might as well be jealous of moon-bats for eating moon-cheese.

Only problem was, now that Joss had seen critters with wings chowing on cheddar, he wanted some for himself. That was a fearful wanting, and maybe a wicked one, too.

That morning was Joss's turn to be sullen and stare past the wagon team at the trail in silence. Ox didn't grunt, speak his single words, or even look Joss in the eye. Instead he rode too far ahead and then let Webster drift too close back beside the wagon wherever the trail was wide enough. Neither of them was worth the money they were being paid as guards. But Joss didn't feel as guilty as he should, perhaps because Parr seemed somehow responsible for all this ruckus. Maybe his reasoning wasn't fair, but maybe Joss didn't care.

Joss should have expected the trouble they ran into and Ox should have, too. Most likely somewhere deep down they both did. But sometimes stupid things, like nursing a mad, could seem more important than things that really mattered, like a chance to get shot dead over some dry bones.

They emerged out of the tight canyon, at the top of the slope the trail would descend down from the mesa-apron towards the valley and Chamilla. Ahead of them, blocking the trail, were three horsemen. Joss realized he wasn't surprised; this was where he would have waited in ambush, too. As he pulled back on the reins, he kicked Parr's ankle and spoke, keeping his voice as low as he could over the noise of the wagon rattling to a stop. "Don't get the whim-whams. Ox and I know these boys, so let's try some jawing before we consider shooting."

Parr lowered his shotgun but he didn't let it go. That was about the best that could be expected, Joss decided. Even so. Five years ago Joss would have yearned for a fight, given the mood he was nursing. Since then he'd learned better. He plastered calm onto his face as he waited for the three horsemen to ride within earshot, hoping all the time that an Easterner with a shotgun wouldn't unnerve any of them enough to set off the violence Joss wanted to avoid.

After the three men reined in, there were a few seconds of silence broken only by the noises horses make when they've sensed their rider's nerves are tight-strung. The Blackrock men were fronted by one of the senior hands, Charlie. He was riding with Jeremiah and Frank, which meant Burton was probably around somewhere with a rifle. At least there hadn't been bad blood between any of them and Ox or Joss. So maybe, just maybe, they would all live through the next ten minutes.

The two groups were close enough together for Joss to see Charlie grimace. Charlie didn't seem to be much looking forward to this talk, either. "Hello, Joss."

Parr started to respond, but Ox waved one big hand to silence him. Joss ignored both of them. Negotiation was his task, he knew.

"Charlie. I reckon Mr. Norton sent you out to get these crates away from us."

"Yup."

"Did he tell you what's in them?"

"Some fossil bones. Now, if you'll just—"

"Wish we could, but we can't. A job's a job." Joss made sure his tone was mournful. He didn't want to display any more challenge than he had to.

Without much visible movement both Jeremiah and Frank seemed to lean forward a little, but Charlie just scowled. "Ah, Joss, show some sense, would you? We left Burton halfway up the mesa and he can pick you off 'fore you can so much as twitch a finger."

But Joss was well enough acquainted with Charlie to hear the lack of enthusiasm. So Joss said, careful to keep it mild, "Now, Charlie, you know that we can't let these bones go without a struggle. We been paid, after all. And killing the three of us would be way more trouble than it's worth. Mr. Parr here," he jerked his head sideways, "is close kin to Colonel Masters, one of the Standard Oil Trust sachems. The Colonel would have the army out." He sensed, rather than saw, Parr's start. Did the man think Joss never read the newspapers, not to recognize his father-in-law's name? Well, to tell truth, Joss didn't read them much, but Ox read them to Joss all the time. And this was drifting. "If there's a ruction, you boys know who will end up paying the price."

There was a long pause before Jeremiah's dark brown face scowled. He said, "Shit." Then his stream of tobacco juice, closely followed by Charlie's, hit dirt, putting the period after a shared sentiment.

Charlie shook his head. "I hear your talking, Joss." He thought for a while. One of those big flies that seem to appear from nowhere to bother any human in a desert, no matter how isolated, buzzed around Joss's face, but he didn't bat an eyelash. Neither did Ox. Neither, to Joss's distant surprise, did Parr.

After what seemed eons, Charlie cleared his throat. "I guess the best thing would be if we never found you. Mr. Norton will probably settle for being able to write back east that he tried. We have enough trouble to keep us all busy right now."

"The grangers," Ox said.

"Yup. You was right about that. We ran them off the very day after you rode out, and what do you think? Two days later we found cattle tanks busted open and cut fence all to hell over yonder. Of course that whole family had a mess of third and fourth cousins who could swear they were over in some village up in the Taos Mountains when everything went wrong. And all the cousins had cousins, too. God knows what's been going on since we rode down here." Charlie spat again into the dust. "Dang it, I wish Mr. Norton had listened to you."

Ox made a noise of disdain. Worries about revenge wasn't the reason he'd been upset about moving on the Mex farmers in the first place, but Joss knew that Charlie would never get that notion through his head. So he said, "Well, we thought that's how matters might work out."

Charlie's face went tired. "Things aren't the way they used to be in this Territory."

Joss bit down on an urge to retort, "Good," and shook his head, making it look sympathetic. "Given what you may be riding back towards, we'd best not keep you. You boys have water and chuck for the return trip?"

"Yup," Charlie said, and, "Sorry to rile you up for nothing, Joss, Ox." And that was that.

As the Blackrock hands rode off, Parr asked, his tone quizzical, "This is how our danger ends, not with a battle but with words?"

Before Joss could say anything, Ox said, "Yup." Then he added, his own words enunciated in a way that usually happened only when he read out loud, "And thank God for that. I've lived through a dramatic denunciation once before and I don't ever want to do it again." Then he kicked Webster more briskly than usual and rode on ahead.

Joss snorted, clucked his tongue, and shook the reins to get the wagon team going. Parr didn't say a word.

Dinner that night was purely awful. They ate their trail rations before the light was gone from the sky and then stared at the fire like someone was dancing in it naked. Joss didn't know about his company, but he was, in fact, feeling that same confusion of hunger and shamed discomfort that he'd felt the times he'd seen fancy-house shows. But after a while those feelings made him mad all over again. He hadn't been raised to be prissy: given his bad childhood, church-elder modesty didn't even make sense. Joss couldn't always afford to subscribe to the common wisdom about what was wicked.

What he wanted was to ask Ox to explain exactly what had happened between him and Parr, and between him and those laborers. But that was none of Joss's business. If he couldn't get those questions answered, he wished he could ask Ox about the giant lizard bones. Even if Ox wouldn't have been comfortable talking, he could have found some book on the subject and read it out. Ox seemed able to find reading about most matters. They were always toting some new title around in the rucksack as Ox swapped book for book.

Funny that Ox hadn't let on the entire trip that he'd still read out loud. Somehow, for some reason, the hidden confidence mattered, mattered in a way that pleased Joss as much as the hidden kisses made him feel ill.

So instead of sitting silent, Joss asked, "Mr. Parr?"

The rich brown eyes looked at him, and Parr said cautiously, "Yes?"

"What's the story of these giant lizards, here, if you don't mind my asking?"

"No," Parr said, sounding a bit astonished. "Not at all, Mr. Lewis. Do you know much about the primeval fauna of America?"

"Nope."

"Ah. Charles Darwin?" The name was offered as delicately as if Parr was proposing something much spicier than kisses.

"Yup, I—heard a little about him." Ox had read him some of _On the Origin of Species_. The notions had been interesting, and Joss wouldn't have minded seeing several of the critters Mr. Darwin described.

"Good." Parr seemed to settle down some, the way a man did before telling an old Indian tale or yarning about some long past cattle drive. "Millions of years ago, this country was—"

The giant lizard histories were interesting, but what was more interesting was Ox. Very soon he sat up from his slump and started listening. After a while, he began putting in a word here or there, or some punctuation with a grunt, that made clear to Joss, at least, that Ox knew more about the subject than Parr did. Joss felt the same mix of wonder and dismay creep across him that he'd felt upon seeing his first forest fire back in Colorado and after he'd listened to _Macbeth_. Not wanting to make a show, he turned the topic to how a man would get those bones out of the ground properly.

After Joss made some comment about the careful pick-work that would be needed to loosen the finest bones from their rocky matrix, Parr surveyed him with approval. "Your grasp of such matters is swift and sure, Mr. Lewis. And I've noticed that your craftsmanship is very fine. Did your high school emphasize the technical arts?'

"Thank you for your compliment, sir, but I never finished high school." Joss grinned. "Never finished any schooling, for that matter."

"But surely there are public schools in this Territory. We've ridden past at least one."

"I started out back east with my Ma. She came from down south, herself."

"Your father died." Parr shook his head and said to Ox, "By the way, you were certainly correct about scholarships for promising youths, and I've never once doubted your motives. I'm beginning to agree with your ideas about the wastefulness of child labor, as well." He turned back to Joss. "Did you work in a factory to supplement your family's income?"

Aw, Jerusalem. "No, I sold papers and did chores at the fancy-house where Ma worked."

Even in the firelight he could see Parr blanch. "My God. How unspeakable—" Didn't the man ever listen to himself?

Ox made a noise. You couldn't call it a grunt and you couldn't call it a growl, but it was a little like both. Parr, hearing, stopped what he was about to say. Instead, he looked at Ox, his face rueful. "I understand, Robert." Then he looked at Joss. "My apologies, Mr. Lewis."

Joss had also heard the noise. "That's fine. You didn't get to anything at which I had to take offense." And Parr hadn't said anything last night that Joss should have heard to be offended by. Joss had been eavesdropping. So now Joss would be sensible. Instead of asking any of the questions he really wanted to ask, he asked Parr about life in New York City.

That night Joss took the first watch, and he spent it sitting next to Ox. After a while, he spent it considering Ox in the light of the banked-down fire, which was foolish but not anything that Joss seemed to be able to help. Ox was producing the odd snore that Joss had never told him about, so he was really sleeping. He thrashed some. Joss wouldn't be surprised if he was having bad dreams.

Everything Joss had learned and figured, and Ox still seemed the same. How large Ox was. How very big. And tougher than a granite cliff: nothing had turned up from Ox's past to shift that judgment.

When Joss went to shake Ox, his hand hovered before it settled. Then Joss took a deep breath and told himself things hadn't changed between them. But that was a lie. It was a lie when Ox's awakening expressions went from sleepy pleasure to wariness, it was a lie as Joss turned in for his own restless sleep, and it was a lie all through the entire cheerful ride back to Bacaville the next day.

Joss wasn't use to lying. Eavesdropping or not, long sentences or not, wicked wants or not, he and Ox were going to have to talk.

IV

The westbound Denver & Rio Grande dropped off in Bacaville mid-day. The eastbound Denver & Rio Grande picked up at Bacaville mid-evening. If he was brisk, Mr. Parr could catch the eastbound train, and Joss was determined to see that Parr hurried.

Joss took the wagon over to the depot and saw the three crates unloaded onto a freight cart. Then he returned the wagon and headed back to the boardinghouse. He'd opened the front door to gallop upstairs when he hesitated. Then, slowly, he closed the door again. As much as Joss might want to take a hand, this was Ox's game, and his friend had a right to his own life. Joss would have to wait his turn.

Feeling like each step took him ten minutes, Joss walked over to a straight-backed chair some boarder had left for sitting out on the front porch after dinner. He sat. This time there was a single mosquito whining around, maybe spawned in the water barrel out back. After a few seconds, Joss leaned the chair against the side of the house, and propped his boots on the nearest stretch of railing. A bit later he pulled his Stetson down to needlessly shade his eyes from the long-ago-set sun. He was not going back into that house, but no one was going to watch Joss struggle, either.

In any case, like he'd known they would eventually, Ox and Parr came to him. The front door opened and Ox emerged, carrying one of Parr's fancy suitcases. Joss heard the creak of the porch under Ox's heavy tread and the thump when he sat the bag down.

Parr was still adding words to a discussion that had obviously been going for a while. "You know I would do anything I can for you."

"Anything except what I need, Nathan," said Ox. His deep voice was sad, and Joss felt bad for him. "I'm no Alfred Lord Tennyson, no John Henry Cardinal Newman, to love my special friend in yearning chastity. I proved that the hard way."

"Robert—" There was a pause. Joss felt his mouth dry. "I'm so very sorry."

There was a creak of leather as Ox shrugged. But Joss could tell by all the talking that Ox was about to the end of his tether. Besides, Joss had been patient long enough. So he let the front legs of the chair hit the floor and moved his Stetson back atop his head where it belonged. "'Bout time to go, Mr. Parr, if you're going to make that train."

The man flinched like Joss had jabbed an old Navy Colt into his ribs. Sure enough, once again he hadn't noticed Joss was present. "Mr. Lewis." Parr cleared his throat. "Yes. Thank you. I'll get my other bag and be right back."

Parr went clattering into the boarding house, leaving Ox and Joss behind to feed the mosquito. Joss said, "Nice fellow in his way. Too darn bad."

"Yup," said Ox. Then he heaved a sigh that could have blown out the Great Chicago Fire, and said, "You're meddling."

"Am not," Joss said, tone hot. "Anyhow, you're not fit to live back east these days. For one thing, you don't like to talk and talk and talk anymore, the way those folks he told stories about all do."

"Unlike you?"

Joss ignored him. "For another, you got that prison record."

Ox just blinked, making like he didn't care. Joss snorted. "Also, what the hell would I do back east?" This time the blink was different, surprised. Joss scowled. "Join some Wild West Exhibition in New York City? Sure, I can just see myself riding around in parade chaps and a red shirt, straddling some saddle with more silver conchos than leather on it. Oh, that'd be just fine. Every time I passed by the fancy seats during the grand stampede and saw those folks you grew up with, I'd be getting madder." Dang it, Ox had him wandering off-trail. "I didn't mean too bad you can't head home with Mr. Parr. I meant, too bad he turned out to be prissy, is all."

Of course that was when Parr came out with his nice suitcases, having his turn to interrupt a conversation with Ox. Ox got up, but Joss waved him away. "I'll take care of this."

Ox considered him, and then nodded and sat back down on the porch swing.

Joss started down the front steps, but Parr hesitated. "Robert—"

Like most times, Ox was silent. When Parr gave up and raised his hand in farewell, Ox's face, in the light spilling out from the front windows, looked like stone. He did raise a hand in return, though.

Twice on the way to the train station Joss thought Parr was going to turn back. The third time, when Parr was standing on the planks of the platform looking east down the railroad tracks, his face got so agonized that Joss was moved to take pity. "Don't fuss yourself."

Parr looked over at Joss. Then, nervous, he pressed his lips tight shut.

Keeping his own expression flat, Joss said, "I'll take care of him. I meant to anyhow."

Parr hesitated, drew in a deep breath, and talked. Joss would always wonder if he spoke through a sense of duty or because, in the end, he was also feeling green-eyed. "Are you sure, Mr. Lewis? You do realize he was convicted and served a penal term for the offense of—"

With an abrupt gesture, Joss interrupted before Parr could finish the sentence. "I don't care. Don't bother with the details, Mr. Parr, because, unlike you, I just don't care." He picked up Parr's two bags and carried them over to the baggage cart, already half-filled with the three wooden crates of fossils. Parr had to hurry to keep up, and he'd barely stopped when Joss turned back from depositing his burden. "Here you go; right next to your nice, clean, dry bones. Enjoy their stories." Joss felt his jaw try to jut and stopped it. "Goodbye to you, sir. Give our best to your lady wife."

Parr's mouth opened for a moment, and then the good sense Joss had noticed seemed to take his reins again. "I will. Goodbye, Mr. Lewis. Good luck."

Joss nodded brusquely and, without another word, strode off back towards the boarding house.

Parr could keep worrying about his own handsome self. Joss had Ox on his mind and touchy questions that needed answers. That was trouble enough for any one man.

Sure enough, when Joss went back to their room, the door handle resisted for a moment before it turned. Joss narrowed his eyes. Good thing he hadn't fixed that lock before they left town with Parr. Or maybe not, depending on how matters went. Joss would have to see.

He went into the room, closed the door, and moved the bureau in front of it. Then he went over, closed the windows and yanked the curtains on both windows shut.

Ox watched all of this from where he lounged back on his bed. Finally he asked, "Indians attacking?"

"That's what I get for being lazy about the lock. And these walls are thinner than the trouser seat of my go-to-town suit. I guess I'll have to keep my voice down."

"Guess so." Ox folded his huge hands over his chest and regarded Joss silently, expression interested.

The conversation ahead frankly scared Joss. Not knowing what else to do, he did what he usually did and let his mouth do his thinking. "How come you said you don't yearn chastely? You sure been trying for that, sitting around reading Mr. Shakespeare and self-abusing whenever we get to town with some money in our pockets."

Ox sat up and then said, "Didn't want women after my cousin married." The words weren't exactly a lie, more like a diversion, and Joss couldn't blame him for trying on a tall tale since Joss might not have been paying attention and doing his sums. Too bad for Ox that Joss had been listening.

"Ah, Jerusalem, Ox. You think I'm deaf or something? Mr. Parr wasn't blunt, but I know what natural-born nances do, and I heard when you read the papers about that English writer-fellow last year." Joss went over to his own bed and sat down facing Ox, with his feet in the narrow moat between the bedsteads. "Or maybe you weren't listening when I told you before and then told Parr yesterday about my mother working in a fancy-house before we came out west. You want to guess what made her quit?"

Ox examined him. "Customer."

"Yup."

"You scarred up, back then?"

"Nope, that was a gift from a barbed-wire fence up by Wyoming Territory when I was fifteen."

"A rich customer after you."

"An influential and rich customer, that's right. Hard thinking of you being like him. He was a man, too, not a nance." Joss pondered. "But he was a wicked man, not a good man. Maybe that's what was different." He shrugged.

"Anyhow, he's why Madam staked Ma the money for our train tickets. I was way too young for the game, years younger than the girls, even." Realizing he was still wearing his hat, Joss took it off and threw it towards the room's one chair. "So then we got out here, and Ma saw a chance to do something different. Even if scrubbing was hard and nasty work, she thought I'd like her doing laundry better than my doing chores around a whore-house. Although I really only wanted her to be happy, but that's lung-fever for you. It doesn't care about what anyone wants. She was a good woman, my Ma."

"Lady," Ox corrected, voice very soft.

"Lady." They eyed each other for a minute like they were two knife fighters circling, waiting for the split-second of opportunity. "But I know the fancy, eastern terms for sodomy, Ox."

Those words had been a good jab past Ox's guard. "Wasn't that, exactly." Then Ox blinked like he'd surprised himself.

"Huh? Oh, just what you did?" Joss told himself to quiet down now, but himself didn't seem to be listening. "So you got caught with your hand on some farmhand's cock?"

"No," Ox said, and then bit his lips.

Joss's mind seemed to leap forward. The conclusion it galloped up to made his mouth go dry. "Oh," he said. And then, "The French."

"Yup."

They eyed each other some more. The room was getting real hot with the windows closed.

"I like the French," Joss said finally.

"You told me."

"Guess I did a few times, didn't I?" Joss was not going to ask. But his mouth kept going. "You were the one doing the French. On some farmhand." Wasn't that backwards? Shouldn't the farmhand have—? Still, it sounded so—

"Yup." There was another, longer pause, and then Ox let out a grunt that somehow seemed to split the difference between a laugh and a groan. "You envious?"

"Yup."

"Well." Ox moved slow enough that Joss could have stopped him. "All right, then." He got down on his knees in the narrow space between the beds, putting him maybe a foot away from where Joss was sitting.

Maybe this had been inevitable since the first time Joss saw Ox gently stroke Taffy's tongue: wrong to do, but the pinto loved it so. Joss, he loved the feeling of the big hands stroking his thighs through the twilled cotton of his trousers. Joss swallowed, and Ox tilted his head in inquiry. Joss pushed out his chin a little and nodded.

Ox ran one hand along Joss's fall in the same way Joss himself had two nights back. This wasn't a mild pleasure, though, but a hot passion. Ox said, meditatively, "Been a while. Might not be much good."

He was unbuttoning Joss's fly while he spoke, so Joss confined himself to asking, "You're joshing me, right?" He spread his legs wider and watched with urgent interest while Ox went prospecting in Joss's trousers.

When he'd found his strike, Ox let out a grunt at what he had in his hand, one of his surprised ones. "Not circumcised."

Joss blinked, bemused. "Heck, you must have been real good about not peeking these last two years. Whorehouse, remember? Ma's doctor was a patron, so I guess he wasn't real worried about saving me from later self-abuse with free surgery."

This time the grunt was amused. Ox toyed with him for a bit, working his big paw up and down Joss, examining the way the skin slid over Joss's cock with real interest. Joss was interested, too, if not in any abstract way. Then Ox gave him a considering look before he ducked his head down a bit lower. That mouth was surely male but it still seemed beautiful.

Ox's mouth was big, too, and warm, and his tongue worked like when he read, not like when he spoke. He licked his way up Joss and he licked his way back down, he sucked for a good, long while, and then he stroked with his hand all around the base of the shaft. Ox's enthusiasm was way better than any whore's weary desire to get the job done. And Joss was having a lot more fun than he'd ever had for pay.

He didn't have to be polite with Ox, either. Joss thrust his hips some, and was pleased to realize, when Ox seized both legs and held him still, that his partner could teach him, work with him. Ox's hands slid to Joss's ass and he kneaded through the trouser cloth. Ox pulled his head back and rubbed his tongue delicately around just below the head of Joss's cock. At that, Joss grabbed the arms wrapped around his hips.

When Joss tensed, Ox got more insistent. Joss realized that Ox was going to take everything Joss had to give, which was enough to send him right over. The sight of what Ox was doing rung him dry in a way he rarely remembered feeling. Given the thin walls he couldn't holler, but his gasps were harsh and loud in the hot bedroom air. Then after he was done Ox held him close, his hands now on Joss's waist, his head resting against Joss's belly. Joss closed his eyes for a few seconds, and breathed deep the mingled smells of spunk, dust, fresh linens, and sweat.

Joss opened his eyes to see Ox looking up with an expression that was impossible to read. But Joss could guess. He grinned and briefly squeezed Ox on the upper arm. "Now, that was good."

Visibly relaxing, Ox got back up onto his feet and sat down on his own bed. For a fugitive second Joss wondered if Ox knew he was running a considering tongue around his lips. Joss said, "In fact, that was real good, and thank you for it. Dang, Ox, you're fine as all get-out."

Ox grunted, now sounding both placid and a bit smug.

Hah. Joss knew how to fetch him. "So, you going to teach me to do that?" It took all his courage to get those words out, but both the fancy-house and the ranges had taught Joss how not to show his nerves when he needed to get a job done.

As Joss had expected, there was a pause. Then the smile worked across Ox's features slowly, but it sure was nice once it arrived. "Yup."

"Okay."

It was Joss's turn to get down on his knees, and he had to shove to get Ox to spread his legs properly. "Any advice?"

Ox thought. "Don't rush. First time out, don't try to swallow." He smiled some more. "Watch your teeth."

Boy, Ox was sure a mouthful. And the taste was odd, but the cool, smooth skin felt nice and the scent of Ox was comfortably familiar even under the tang of sex. Joss knew he was awkward but you couldn't have proven that by Ox. His friend watched Joss the entire time Joss worked away, and the expression on his face would be enough to give a fellow a high-hat impression of himself if he didn't know better. Those intent blue eyes got Joss interested in moving his hands around some. Ox's marred hide beneath the shirt, his tense muscles shifting. Even his tight balls under their puckered skin felt surprisingly good, and Ox's response was even better. Joss was almost disappointed when Ox pushed him off, shuddering, and he moved fast to make sure his hands were in place when Ox spent. Ox came hard, which was interesting, too. Joss's curiosity wasn't half-satisfied. They'd just have to do this again.

Getting up from his own knees and looking down at Ox, who was now sprawled out on his bed as relaxed as Joss had ever seen him, Joss realized that they could do this again. In fact, they would. Okay.

He was whistling as he went over to the washstand to clean up his hands and his groin. He didn't rinse his mouth out, though. That didn't seem needful. The lingering taste was somehow pleasant. And Joss felt fine, not sick at all.

Well, Joss had seen too much at too young an age, seen too many preachers and politicians climbing the wrong stairs, to swallow everything he heard about fornication without measuring those words against his own experience. And if the gospel sharps were correct about sodomy? All right, then, he'd go to hell. He'd sure have lots of company once he got there, including Ox and his Ma. Which kind of made hell the place to be, in Joss's opinion.

He paused to examine his reflection in the mirror over the washstand. Come to find out, Joss didn't look any more like a gal now that he'd sucked cock, either. So the docs were flim-flaming about the nances, too. How about that? "Ox, you know any books about this stuff?"

"Few," Ox said, still sounding contented. "Mostly ignorant."

"They'll be interesting even so. What do you want to do about getting jobs?"

That made Ox sit up. "Best leave this town. Nathan talks."

"You don't want all those fancy friends and relations knowing where you fetched up? I can understand that." Joss pondered, picking up his hat. "All right. Let me speak with Mrs. Hackler and get over to the livery stable again. We're going to have to leave the Territory, so best to be moving before we run through any more money. And we might as well start traveling tonight, just in case Mr. Norton takes issue with Charlie."

Ox smiled. "Yup, we'll travel." The smile widened into a grin. "Have to move the bureau drawers first, though. And button up."

Joss whacked Ox with his Stetson.

So everything ended like it began: with Joss and Ox journeying through the New Mexican night. Although this time there was a moon overhead, big and white, turning the sky deep indigo and silvering the clouds as they sailed silently towards the horizon. They could see well enough to ride, making good time up the road into the Taos Mountains. They'd decided to cut across the loop of the Denver & Rio Grande before rejoining the tracks at Pinyones and shipping themselves and the horses by train. About half-way to Dos Caride, they dismounted and paused to water some pines before stretching out their legs for a minute or two.

Joss rubbed a little sand across his palms and brushed it back off. "Where are you thinking about our traveling to?"

"California."

"I always wanted to see California. Where in California? Why?"

"San Francisco. My money's in a bank there."

"The Barbary Coast." Joss found he was liking this idea more and more. "And we can use what I don't have to spend on girls any more to see Celestial Town. I bet they have interesting houses. You ever eat Chinaman food, Ox? I always wanted to try some. My Ma said they make soup out of bird's nests. I wonder how that tastes."

"Then maybe the Sandwich Islands."

"Well, now." Joss smiled. Then he frowned. "They need cowboys in the Sandwich Islands?"

Ox reached out one big hand and cradled Joss's chin for a minute. "Yup." Then, with the slow inevitability of a landslide, he leaned in for a kiss. It was nothing like the kiss he'd swapped with Parr. His lips were searching, strong, and his tongue came calling like Joss was a fancy girl. But Joss didn't kiss back like a girl and Ox didn't seem to mind that at all. When Ox pulled away, he said, "On the biggest island."

"What?" Joss shook his head, which helped to settle his brains. "Oh, where we can work."

"For a bit. We'll travel, look around. Get our own ranch."

"Your own ranch."

Folding his arms over his chest, Ox gave Joss a stern look. "Our."

"You shouldn't say that, Ox. You may be sick of me by then, or find someone nicer, smarter—shit!"

Joss didn't swear much, but he wasn't used to being plucked straight up off the ground, either. Ox shook him a single time, gently, and then said, "Hard enough finding one partner."

"All right, all right!" Ox set him back down and Joss yanked his shirt and coat back into place. "You sure are stubborn."

"Yup. And right, too. You'll see. We'll do fine. We can live."

Joss found he was smiling. Ox had always been a pretty good prophet, and he'd probably be right this time, too. "Okay, partner. Let's live, then."

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally published commercially through a small press, but all rights have reverted to me, where they remain. The usual fandom, not-for-profit permissions apply. Given the obvious fannish influences and tropes, it seemed possible to post it here. I hope you enjoy!


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